


Waitin’ Is Such Misery

by warmommy



Category: Inglourious Basterds (2009)
Genre: F/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Wicki's Voice is Porn, Wicki's Voice is an Orgasm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-05-02 18:16:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14550507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/warmommy/pseuds/warmommy
Summary: This is strictly porn about the power of Wicki's voice.





	Waitin’ Is Such Misery

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! You can find this and a lot more at my tumblr, warmommy.tumblr.com!

It was a never-ending amazement that, thus far, no one had seemed to guess about the nature of your relationship with Corporal Wicki. True, being part of a bushwhackin’ guerrilla army, there wasn’t actually much space for chain of command. No one ever saluted Aldo and no one ever, ever called Donny “sergeant”, but it would be unseemly, you already knew, if others were to discover your entanglement.

What was worse, he  _never_  so much as  _tried_  to keep things under wraps. When he came out of the brush striding towards you at the end of 21:00 patrols, the way his fingers rested and curled around his rifle, the surety of his steps, the set of his jaw, the look in his eye, all of it spelled out “run, bitch, run”.

But you did not, in fact, run.

You never, in fact, ran.

About fifteen feet to your right and off a ways were five good/awful Jewish boys being as noisy as Lieutenant Raine would allow. In the midst of it all was Utivich, repeatedly asserting that he  _did not_  want to gamble, but everyone spoke over him and made him include himself anyway.

“Uti, shuddup, you’re in for fifteen cents…”

Donny’s voice was cut off from you when Corporal Wicki sat down beside you. He put his rifle down in condition two and patted around his pockets. You did not look at him, focused on the scalps that had dried and cured. It’s what you did with the ones Aldo had already tallied to their rightful scalpers. He wanted them left hanging from the branches of the trees, everywhere you went, so that any German forces marching through would see them, like macabre ornaments for their Christmas trees.

The Lieutenant was a really weird guy.

Corporal Wicki’s lighter needed more fuel in it. He dragged his thumb sharply down over the flint wheel four times before you heard the tiny hiss of the cigarette paper igniting, the way the air around it burned. You inhaled, too, held your breath. Every positively charged ion in the air licked the exposed skin of your face, neck, hands. He didn’t need to look at you or address you in any way to have you rapt with attention, waiting for his words with bated breath.

“You’re such a good girl, Y/N.”

He wasn’t speaking loudly, just in his normal, low, quiet conversational voice. The sweet and dark drawl would not alert anyone nearby to what he was saying, the intention of his words, unless they were  _really_  paying attention, but, between the loud gamblers, the guys gone on patrol, and Lieutenant Raine snoring aggressively from his place sitting beneath an oak tree, that was unlikely.

Still, though, you knew the things he would say–the  _sorts_  of things he would say, and it wouldn’t be him that gave you away to the others. It would be you, your blush, how your fingers had halted in their task, how your eyes concentrated on a fixed point of nothingness.

“It feels like it’s been more than a day since the last time I had you,” he said, smoking and cleaning his gun. “It was good, though, yesterday, the sun was still out, sort of, and I saw all the colours of your body. Your skin, your nipples, your beautiful, pink pussy.”

A few times, when he’d first started doing this, you’d attempted to get up and walk away, your heart racing ahead of you, but, with a casual reach of his hand, he always brought you down next to him, again.

“There’s nothing else in the world like it,” he said, putting the rifle down in his lap briefly so he could flick away the ashes from his cigarette. He went right back to work. “When morning comes, I’ve decided I’m going to take you away, eh, maybe ten or so feet from the others, maybe more, if you’re good, and I’m going to undress you, lay you down, and watch your pussy darken as I touch it. You’ll get  _so_  wet, and I’m going to push these two fingers inside of you–are you looking? Good.–and then I’m going to kiss all over your body and make you mine all over again. I want to see it all in the light of morning, when the sky is purely blue.”

A scalp of bloody blond hair fell from your hands and to the dusty dirt below your boots. Wicki’s heavy hand landed on your thigh, covered the whole breadth of it easily, squeezed so intimately before moving down to your knee, squeezing again, and then turning attention back to his rifle.

“Tonight, though,” Wicki lit another cigarette, deepening his voice in a way that made you draw in and hold another breath. “You had better hope you’re alone in your tent, or whoever bunks with you might wake up when I’m fucking you.”

“Corporal–”

“No.” He shook his head. “Don’t talk. I’ll only tell you this once.” He got closer to you, just inside the realm of inappropriate, and grabbed the opposite thigh. “Did you notice your legs have opened? You want me in between them so badly.” His fingers played at the very edge of the seam of your pants, and you gasped. “I’ll give you everything you want if you’ll just sit in my lap.”

You knew he meant it, too. He thought the secrecy was inconvenient and pointless, because he  _wanted_  everyone to know. Hell, he wanted everyone to see and hear. So many times, you’d been mere feet away from another sleeping face with Corporal Wicki on top of you, slamming in and out of you with your tits exposed to the night air and his lips. Being caught was only _part_  of the fantasy, for him.

Now, he had practically leaned against your shoulder. His hand traveled upward. His voice lowered, but didn’t soften, couldn’t, too deep and rumbly for that. “Life is for the living, but there’s a heaven in between your legs. Plenary salvation, the balm that each soul needs, but only  _I_  will ever find, ever touch.” He very briefly kissed the side of your neck, a press of his lips, an exhale. Then he stood, did little more than glance at you with a smile, strap of his rifle over his shoulder again. He dropped the cigarette to the dust and twisted the sole of his boot over top of it, grinding it down. “I’ll see you tonight, Y/N.”

It was a promise.


End file.
